tma catgirl*

They moved in an uncanny, unspoken tandem. The one who liked to hit her more (alternatively Sir, Daddy, or Miss depending on her mood) always knew when his wife and fellow captor (most often Miss) was about to cum. Sir always held Kat's head down. The first time she had been unprepared, and nearly choked on the weak pulse of sour liquid. She had since learned Miss's quiet tells, in many gleefully administered lessons.

This evening, she was gagging on Sir's dick, arms bound box tie (a favorite position of theirs), kneeling between her legs. Miss kneeled behind her, humming quietly, almost in time with the bobbing of Kat's head.

Her jaw had gone painfully numb. The mean, silicone tip of his cock, curved slightly, poked the back of her throat if she didn't go down just right, and Kat gagged. She bucked, fighting to stay down, breathe, hold firm, but her body twisted out of her control, and he slipped free of her mouth with a wet pop.

"No no no-" she gasped

Miss grabbed her arms, and yanked her back into an embrace.

"Oh baby, it's ok to need a break. Take your time, we want you to enjoy yourself."

Her fingers danced up Kat's exposed sides, rapid and feather light. An awful giggle choked its way out, and Kat tried to twist away. Miss wrapped her other arm tighter, a challenge, and wriggled fingertips against Kat's belly.

"Please please I was-" she laughed, desperately gulping air between the torturous strokes.

"You were what? Wanting this? Oh, you know how to charm a girl."

Indelicate fingers found her breast, groping as much as tickling. There was not enough air, she was getting lighter, farther away. Other fingers caressing her stomach. She writhed desperately, distantly aware of the hoarse giggles from her bruised lips.

Miss's grip went slack, to reposition, and Kat dove face first into the soft, merciful thighs of Sir. She wrapped her tongue around the silicone cock, no, it had to be in her mouth. Miss pulled her back, she rocked on her heels, and caught it with her lips.

Miss's hands retreated, as if burned.

Kat took short, grateful, forced breaths through her nose, barely bobbing her head. The tears on her cheeks dripped onto the strap, and commingled with her own stale drool into the taste of respite.

As it gets worse and worse, and those sentences get too complex to manage, you just repeat exactly as trained: "Break me. Break me. Break me." Egging me on with the mantra, the fear and horror and pain in your voice meaningless next to the actual words.